


anarchy hearts

by traveller



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-22
Updated: 2003-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Isn't that what you're supposed to draw, when you breathe on a window? Hearts? Maybe with an arrow and some initials?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	anarchy hearts

"Isn't it wild?" says the voice next to his ear, voice followed by hand, all too briefly, on the small of his back.

"Yeah," he answers in the same low tone. "Yeah."

On the other side of the glass the snow swirls relentlessly; the wind howls around the eves, rattles the windowpanes. Is there wind inside a snow globe when you shake it, is there any air at all? Or does everything hang suspended in the water until kinetics is overruled by gravity? He's never seen anything quite like this, that wasn't produced on a soundstage, anyway.

There's the hand on his back again and his face flashes hot despite the cold seeping through the glass. How did he not know that there were places in the world like this? That he could be inside something like this? White on white in the dusk, a sense of overwhelming purity to it all.

"I've been in cities too long. It's like it's too clean," he says wonderingly. "Too new."

Behind, beside him, Viggo shakes his head. The stubble on his chin scratches the back of Dom's neck. "It's so old that it feels new, but it's not, not really."

"Maybe." He shrugs.

Their breath mists and freezes on the window and Dom reflexively sketches a heart with his fingertip. Viggo's laugh is a hot chocolate whisper. "Why a heart?"

Dom shrugs again, tries to turn the corners of his mouth down without much success. "Isn't that what you're supposed to draw, when you breathe on a window? Hearts? Maybe with an arrow and some initials?"

Viggo reaches around Dom's shoulder and adds three lines: a letter 'A'. It's now an anarchy heart. Dom turns around, delighted.

*

Come out for a long weekend, he said, get away from it all. Viggo was ever generous with his time and his home – it wasn't an unexpected offer. A short flight and a long drive that reminded Dom fondly of New Zealand, of other winters and other mountains. Shared a bottle of port by the fireplace, and they talked all night, about everything and nothing in five different languages.

Dom woke at midmorning, to the smell of strong coffee and hand-rolled cigarettes. He'd been tucked in warmly on the sofa, in a fuzzy woolen nest.

"I didn't want to wake you," Viggo said, crouching by Dom's head with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. "You looked like you could use the sleep." His other hand flickered toward Dom's face, fingertips brushing just beneath Dom's eyes.

He sat up, leaned up and in. He couldn't begin to count the number of times they'd kissed, in drink or in jest or simply because, but never before with such... intent. It was wholly different, heavy and sweet with something new, or perhaps something so old that it felt new. Viggo's fingertips caressed the soft skin at the corner of Dom's eye, stroked up to his temple, down the line of his jaw.

When the coffee spilled, neither of them noticed.

*

The shower on the second floor is too weak for Dom's taste; it resembles nothing so much as steamy rain. He tips his face up into the soft spatter and Viggo says something about having laid most of the plumbing himself, pressing his forehead to the back of Dom's shoulder. His hands skate down over the planes of Dom's chest, his belly, makes Dom's skin prickle with sense memory. He sucks in his breath, half recollection and half anticipation.

"Never liked fucking in the shower," Viggo mumbles, although he's making no move to stop stroking Dom's dick. "Gonna get you back in my bed, up on your knees maybe, hanging on to the headboard..."

Even if the words weren't obscene, Viggo's voice would be: rubbing the vowels and licking at the consonants, sultry and sweltering. Dom comes hard and unexpectedly halfway through the world's most poetic description of a rimjob, shaking and almost sobbing. Viggo holds him up, keeps him on his feet, gives him a kiss on the neck and a bite on the ear.

"You okay?"

"Never better," he manages, turns his face again into the gentle spray of the shower. "Hot water's almost gone."

Viggo nods, absently sketches a heart on the foggy glass of the shower door. Dom lets it alone.


End file.
